The fact that people so easily forget me is upsetting,
I would succumb to something if I knew well enough:
to toughen up behind a hug, to  summon up strength,
to go to whatever lengths just to permanently stain a page
with a name that becomes synonymous to my own.
Writing has become synonymous to the word hurting,
the diamond behind a curtain that droops over reality.
Writing has become synonymous to the word masking,
the casket that hides the real emotions we set aside to die.
Writing has become synonymous to the word invisible,
the minimal impact that makes miracles into nothing.
I will not be a part of the writing process if that is its course
I will force myself to open doors that may lead to nowhere
I will bare all of my soul for anyone interested to read,
I will bleed in between lines to make my mark in this art.

I will pave the path of being the next titanic that sinks,
I will be a titan that thinks before leaping in with bare fists
I will risk all I am for someone to read and hear my soul.
Just so I can be more than a page in a book that doesn't get thrown out,
I have grown out of my idealistic childhood days but I still play-
the part of those with a broken heart, the part of those who's art
speaks what their mouths can never say.
I know, one day I will be an indelible ink staining minds.

The curse of being so unattractive have taught me a few things,
the hurt that comes with it only ever seems to get worse.
The first reminded me of how stained yellow my teeth were,
I thought for sure there wasn't going to be a second.
I had better luck guessing as there was a second after the first,
the curse continues on and so did my lessons.
Blessings in disguise are better left untouched
because although I was enough, enough isn't just good enough,
the love she felt for me subsided within mere months,
so I learnt to never be too invested into something so short lived.
I'll give myself a cookie if that was where my classes ended
but I befriended a girl who mended my broken heart
but time drove us apart as she found herself a new job
and I a new hobby. I'd lobby against the idea of not trying enough,
but frankly we were both too lazy to make any of it work.
The perks of having a heart that is resilient enough to damage
is being able to take savage heartbreaks one after another,
my brother helped me see that I probably was the problem
as my relationships ended so often, it was a clear patten.
I couldn't fathom the idea that I was solely responsible
till I met a girl through modern day digital means,
I mean I haven't met her face to face but the thought was there
I bared my soul to this girl and I guess this time distance
drove us to listen to other things in life. That and blood parasites
are dangerous things. Lesson 5: Don't **** with blood parasites.
Which leads me to my last and final lesson of learning to not hurt
I fear it has only gotten worse when I think of-
how much I currently miss her.
The fissure that seems to break bits and parts of my life,
I'm trying to stop mid-strife but the point is that
sometimes you can love a hundred people
this evil thing exists in this world where things just don't work out,
you can hold thousand of doubts but if it is meant to be,
it will be.
The most important lesson I can ever give anyone
is to treasure those around you before they are long gone,
the same old song seems to sing in kids show
of how we should love everyone we know,
but frankly the truth is; if that one person is right enough,
if they're willing to try hard enough,
a volcano is just a hot mountain,
an earthquake is just the ground having a dance party
and a Tsunami is just the fishes way of saying "let's have fun".

Footnote: My lessons may be totally inaccurate as it is something you have to experience, go out there and get your heart broken as much as you can, it is the only way you will learn.

To you:
Who deserves every chance at happiness.
_________________­__
I hope he loves you more than I ever did
I hid my heart behind a ribcage too tightly sealed
I shielded my heart from the thieves inside my mind
I've been blind to not realise the thief is beautiful
with a musical voice that sounded like an angel's choir;
one that I could never tire of.
A big part of me knew that I wasn't good enough, I just knew;
through all that he does, I hope he makes you feel rich
And I hope that he loves you more than I ever did.

I hope he makes you happier than I ever could
I never understood how you could look at yourself in such a light,
you're bright, funny, pretty, beautiful and a million more words
some I've never heard of, but I don't understand
how you managed to find hate against yourself.
I hope I helped you felt a little better about yourself,
I hope I helped you see yourself through my eyes
and the eyes of anyone you have ever met or will come to meet.
I could bleed an ocean, drip by drip from an aching heart
but if it was a start to make you see yourself as a piece of art;
the masterpiece that you are. I would.
I hope he makes you light up with smiles everyday
and say all the right and perfect things to make you feel loved.
I hope he hugs you tight within his arms, holding you to his chest;
I hope he knows he is blessed to have you in his life.
I hope you see that you're magnificent, great, never just plain good,
and I hope that he makes you happier than I ever could.

I hope he reminds you of what it was like to live in dreams
that seamless paradise where everything is so well connected;
the things you expected is right in the palm of your hands,
all the plans you ever made have all in some way came true
the blue that you ever felt in your heart is obliterated
and all the situations you find yourself in makes you happy.
I hope he lets you fullfil your dreams, everything you ever wanted;
I hope he helps you achieve those dreams.
I've seen a glimpse of what your dreams are like,
they are marvellous; and your happiness away from the nightmares;
I hope he cherishes them,
and I hope he cherishes you.
I hope he is always there putting you above the TV or computer screen,
and I hope that he makes you feel like you're living in a million dreams.

I hope you know; I'll be ok. I'll learn to be ok,
no matter how hard it might become for me,
but I hope that he loves you with all of his heart;
and I hope that you find everything you want in life,
the light that brightens your eyes on why you are in many ways amazing,
the racing heart sensation that you would feel with him,
I hope that you will be as happy as you ever wanted.
I hope he loves you more than I ever did, ever do and ever could.

__________________­_

From:
The guy stuck in his own mind, trying to find a way out.

There's a barrier of two blocks that sit between our hearts,
each broken part of what we are only settles with the sun;
but tonight I've begun my journey into losing myself.
It's always been a scream of help away from losing it all,
maybe if I stand tall, there's one less stress on my mind
because feeling so blind in trying to gain vision is horrifying.
Maybe I'm just not ready to be loved, or maybe we're just wrong,
for one another, for each other, maybe just wrong all together.
Maybe there's an ocean drowning our hearts,
and this time the kiss I gave you over Christmas night,
isn't a lifejacket to help us out.

Follow like the mist of the morning
I'm yawning but my eyes are wide,
the dew on the leaves seem boring,
I cried but not from a place of sorrow
I follow the luminous orb to a place:
a place so far away from grace.

The cliffs are divided by gravel
I'll travel the rest of the ways tomorrow,
for the light prods a horse with a saddle
I watched the birds fly over my way.
I hear the chirps barricaded by trees
I'll see to it that I'll sail the seas.

The song echoes, I hear nothing but breathing,
the colours taste bland and there I was reaching-
for one glorious moment where it all made sense.
I commend those who travelled these cliffs
that were eclipsed by the deadliest woods.

I smell something sinister yet reminds me of me,
I smell something like the smell of flesh on water,
I smell nothing. I fear, I smell nothing.

I see one last projection of the illuminating orb,
as it transforms into a night sky of stars,
I'm afar from them, but I can feel them touch me.
The warmth I reminisce on, reappears,
I fear I can taste colours and smell roses,
I fear I can hear the birds beyond the trees,
I hear them just fine, and I hear more than that;
I hear my heartbeats, I've beaten the cliffs
eclipsed by dangerous woods.

I'm trying to wear a smile like a lilac stuck in a fire. I only ever seem to burn brighter ignited by the lighter and fuel that was her heart and her love. I found enough of myself in another person's shadow, the shallow skin deep love I didn't know I was holding. The moments were golden but now they slip by me, I tell myself to keep fighting but these memories seem to burn with the lilacs. My back is broken by all the weight of the broken hearts I am forced to carry. The memories we built in photographs and celebrations all ignited into ash and dust in the winds, all within a mere second and do I regret it? If she was to break my heart again, in less than a breath, I will give all that I have left to her.

So if it takes four years to forget me,
remember that definitely is just a word we assign to things we think will never end.
So if you play pretend, befriend a soldier,
remember that my shoulder is open.
An unlocked box holding up rocks waiting,
training, continuously changing; for you.
So if it takes four years to forget me,
remember that we live in a world
where artists curl ears to snip it straighter,
forget the patience it took before that cut,
forget the other stuff that cause the pain
and all we see is a painting. The stained page
of a life lost to being caged in with nothing.
We are all fighting our own demons,
and I'm glad you ran from mine-
I'll fight the confines of my cage waiting,
the patience I feel  in my soul weakening,
and each hit I'm dealt seeps in further.
Bruised and blue I remember you,
the starry nights won't pay justice to me,
and I ask not a leprechaun for change
because all he'll offer me is a pen and ink
pushing me to rethink and in rethinking,
I'm thinking I miss you, I'm knowing I do,
and saying sorry hurts a little less,
because it's like a blessing to my pettiness,
I've dug my grave so let me bury in it.
London girl, this heartbreak is my own fault,
hold your head high and cherish your rides,
Carry my story as just "another man you met".

Lonely is just synonymous with scared,
you are scared to be with someone
because once gone, that person is
more or less an end of a part of your life.
So you are not a lonely person,
you are scared and each curse of
that same word is rarely any different

I will not be the vindictive serpent's next victim
laying stitches into the brick and concrete of society.
I will not quietly be brought to my knees
sought to please those who make it my choice to do so.
I will be bold against the ridicule like a person
with a burden on his shoulders the size of boulders.
I will grow bolder if I must, to overcome the suspicious
tradition of holding people down and building ladders
out of the souls of cadavers just to allow people to climb
above another.
I will not crush another person's self esteem
to succeed and I will not watch another person bleed
like a machine leaking oil and pretend that its nothing.
It is not nothing.
People get hurt, words are a cursed knife covered in rust
to those unlucky enough to be cut by such a blade.

I will not climb on the backs of others
to cover my mistakes and I will not scale mountains
on the fountain of someones emotion.
Humans aren't meant to be used. We live in a new world
where the humans are used like a ***** and a nail,
we've all witnessed betrayal and deceit.
We live in a new world where the hurting is conscious
we've all tried to be a little more greedy than honest
and the anaesthetic feeding into the blood is rotten.

The illusion that we see on television is that:
we almost always live in an almost oasislike life
where kites soar over the cliffs and heaven exists.
Where kids are kissed before bedtime and the night
is meant for dreamers to gaze at stars
and not to be spent afar from family in a coal mine.

I will not be the vindictive serpent's next victim
I am on a mission to redefine the word beauty;
oxford finds that the word beauty means
aesthetically pleasing, so the creases in a paper
does not speak of experience but its anti-beauty.
Some make it their duty to be anti-beauty antibodies
who seem like copies directly made from a printer
and the thinner the paper, the better.

My definition differs to those already defined words;
beauty is abstract; beauty is like a race track,
it may have marks, may occasionally fall apart,
may contain broken gravel, cement, concrete,
may not even be complete, but there is something about it
that makes me want to keep visiting it.
The olden saying of beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,
the further we move towards what society wants;
the colder we become to realising that beauty surrounds us,
it is in the love of a brother, love of a mother,
it is in you;
you are beautiful.
Definiton of Beauty: You.

If half of the world understood me
       I would be half as mad,
       but twice as sad.
So I prefer being a cosmic unknown,
       because I wouldn't expect-
       anyone to care-
       and that might be the best-
       way to be driven mad.

Maybe it's the fact that you're there and I'm here.
Maybe the year hasn't been too kind on my heart,
or maybe I'm hoping we could start again.
Pick off from where we last left,
as if we walked back into an old video game,
we would revisit.
I miss it. The arguments, the tension, the kisses,
the ever so loving way you kept the memories we shared.
The kisses we missed are the ones that break my heart.
People tell me not to look back, there's no future in the past.
I've outlasted loneliness for too long is what i tell them.
Because it is not often, that people get to meet.....You.

You were once just a child as well, with eyes bright blue,
who knew nothing of right or wrong, the starlight's song-
comforted you from the wrong your father committed,
the childhood hurt grew every minute and the pictures
you've taken shows a father and child but not a father figure,
the flicker of a flash could show a mother or a father,
some in the name of scripture and some in the name of tradition.
but canes and whips in the name of discipline
did not transform kids to men; only bruises to hatred.
It is a generational hatred,
and it is time to stop tradition,
it is time to stop physical abuse against children,
because once upon a time- you were once just a child as well.

*Hatred breeds more hatred.

It's killing me to see you like this
though the bliss has ended,
the fences are still being defended.
So don't pretend you're not allowed to hurt
everybody knows it's worse.
Don't listen to a word they say
dreams don't go away,
though the world may bury cuts
these wounds will heal the same.
Don't listen to a word they say
you won't feel the same.
Don't listen to a word they say
bruises will heal away.

Sometimes it becomes so hard to write, my mind
                  j       U m    ps  all over the place. My heart
keeps beating and beating on, but the thunderous roar
has d
            r
                o
                    p
                        p
                            e
                                 d    and I'm not sure whether it will come back.
I can't combat these scribbled thoughts and devilish eyes any longer,
my mind has become a JuMBled M   E S S.

I can't finish the sen..... sometimes
and it gets too hard to breathe, like the air inside my lungs

have just disappeared.

I can't sleep, and the sheep I'm counting are taunting me.
The darkened rings around my eyes shy away from light,
because I am done.

I am done.
I am slowly decaying.
I am slowly slowly decaying
I am...slo.... dec..ing.

And I just want it all to **STOP!

Say you'll see me again,
even if it's just in dreams,
fill me in for when you do,
because I'm missing you.

Say there's another time,
that we'll cross paths,
even if it's in darkness,
even if we're not partners.

Make my heart skip a beat,
because that's what it does-
So say you'll see me again,
even if you just want revenge.

I miss the girl who lit my world,
I miss you Megan, so much,
please say you'll see me again,
even if none of it makes sense.

Maybe this pain I'm feeling,
Is the healing realisation
I so desperately need to learn
because there is no love without loss.

Don't don't don't
look at me for kindness
I I I am not a kind man.
Though you can carry on
this path is hard for me,
I won't won't won't
cherish all these thoughts.
So run run run
along I'm going my own way,
I won't won't won't
let you stop me.
I won't won't won't
let the ghost of you
ruin this for me.
Though my heart may carry on
this won't be cherished thoughts
and say what you may but
I won't won't won't
lose another breath for you.

The bottle on my lips
like the kiss of a thousand stars
all so far from where I am.
The chocolate on my tongue
sprung the feelings of a hundred hugs
enough to raise warmth in my skin.
I'm akin to the fluttering fireflies
who light up the night just right.
I'm akin to the swaying trees
that sweeps its leaves off the branches.
I'm akin to the chirping cicadas
who has not yet croaked its last croak.
I'm akin to the wind that travels under my coat,
the obvious quote that is travel alongside the winds-
and feel the tingling on your skin-
tonight may be long but tomorrow is coming.

You ran marathons across the yellow tapes,  
just to break into an already broken space,
you prey on with your own cherished hate,
while you remain snugged in front of a screen,
uploading scene after scene of horrific child abuse.
You laugh with tormenting captions that proves
you are an addition to the abuse on innocent lives;
running taunting lines that read the black eyes
make her blue eyes look even more cute,
as a collective you cheered on abuse in all kinds
and with like minds you cheered on crime:
from **** to abuse, from violence to hatred-
so that the safest place would only exist
with the absence of you and your kind.

I was eighteen, I watched my friend break into tears;
says her worst fears are those among her own peers,
says her worst fears are those demonic digital fiends
that seems to only want to drag her underground
till her cries barely made a sound she says it's hard,
I'm alive but god do I wish I wasn't, I wish I wasn't,
and the rotten stench of online monsters stained her soul.
I was eighteen when I watched my friend lowered into a hole,
a hole that was the perfect symbolism of her dreams and hopes.

You and your kind are the demonic figure reflected in a mirror
of a person suffering from eating disorders. The distorted view
is just your after image projected onto a live being's mirror,
you place handguns into adults and teens who suffer
from suicidal thoughts because a buffer of your hateful words
seems to hurt the most, you are the ammunition
that screams to loud for anyone to hear or to listen,
you are the chair that encourages every hurting mind
to climb up and take a swing off a rope,
you are the evil that sees people jumping from buildings,
screaming that children aren't worth living in this world
so you direct them to hurl themselves off a broken cliff,
you are the hateful comments on a family breaking apart,
you are the scars on a burn victim that remains noticeable,
you
you are every broken tooth and nail in a world that is decaying;
and if we're all so broken then the token for breaking us goes to you.

Will we ever learn to shut you out,
before a home turns to a house.

The crowd stares at me in disbelief, they're trying to tell me how to dress,
like the left wing says my jeans are too short, it's unaccustomed to them,
the solution is to loosen my comfort and enjoy the prospects
of being taken hostage by a system that assists in my demolition,
I'm not perfect, I'm not beautiful. They preach it through musicals,
that acoustical tune that says the world is watching every step,
so every breath is not my own to control, I'm holding a cane
that doesn't make me stand taller, doesn't make me stand bolder,
that says the older I get, the more of these I will have to buy.
So I look up to the sky wondering how in the world I got here
a beard, some faded jeans telling me what it means to be amazing,
amazing as defined by pop star icons is found in the way you dressed
not in the depth of your soul, not in the acceptance as a whole
but in the pressed on nails and roaming around with flesh on sale.

I do not live by the words of the left wing nor the right wing
I live within my own world where the words soothes my soul,
there's a hole in my chest but it isn't being filled with clothing
because closing a hole with materials is not as filling as it is.
I do not care how I dress, as long as my purpose is intact
I will not be trapped inside a system that assists in my demolition.

The people in the crowd looks to me, says your purpose-
is to sling curses at an old lady with a veteran husband
that the nation trusted, sling curses at an old lady
who lately struggles to sleep as she seeps into the bottle.
The people in the crowd looks to me, says your purpose
is to worsen the lives of those around me, that old lady
who as of lately suffers from arthritis, with shaking hands
tell her you plan to disrespect her because she is a wreckage
unworthy of salvaging so you're doing a hefty good deed.
The people in the crowd says it is all in the name of being cool,
shattering lives, taking knives from drawers
and drawing in people who self harm to help calm their bloods
with a slice of a blade, this mistake after the next,
a blade forgets the wrist but the people don't shut up.
They look at us, like we are their chopping boards
playing tic-tac-toe with an ink they can afford,
each hateful name is a checkered stain across a wrist
that has been kissed by mothers and stitched by doctors.

The people in the crowd says to me, how do you expect-
any respect dressed as a draped over curtain, for certain-
you are earthen for a purpose and that purpose is to show yourself;
dress like hell is awaiting and the heaven is sacred,
dress like a patriot but swear foul things towards your country,
do it for the money or don't do it at all.
The people in the crowd looks at me, up and down,
their face forms a frown like a rainbow made from hate,
a greyish drab sweeps over their face and they know
that I'm gone.

I taught hate towards myself where a pill in a bottle won't feed it
I've beaten myself to blue and pink where my instincts to be insync
with hatred is but a tempo in a song. I look to the crowd
and question are you proud? I've been alive, trying to minimise
the time I have left before I expire and in this light
I might just give fight to the wrong cause
because I'm lost. A pill in a bottle won't fix what's broken
I've soaked in the word of the crowd for so long
that I'm long gone.

I hope that I can stand tall, stand bolder,
grow older, grow wiser to love myself
and not need help on learning to love.

I don't want to look at her photos right now,
they'll only induce tears in my eyes.
I've practically cried them dry.
I don't want to look at her photos right now,
but I kind of want to at the same time,
because I'm so scared, so ******* scared,
that they will be the only thing I have left of her.
People tell me it takes time to get over a breakup
but what if that's not enough, what if time still won't heal me.

[STOP CRYING YOU ******* FOOL!]

We tried to play god,
Generate a society of facade
And the resulting chaos,
Heartache and suffering
is merely a start.
So until same *** relations
Is fully accepted
We'd always be indebted
To those who walked
In silent shambles,
Indebted to those
Who became voiceless
Not from fear
But from tireless
Nights wide awake
Struggling between themselves.

We tried to play god,
But instead god played us.

This is a place I don't dare to visit
the room is enclosed by four walls,
there are misshaped windows
with metal bars that laced the brick
as stained as a lifetime smoker's teeth.
The grey wall bleed a terrible stench
that brings back memories of pig farms
in the morning after a dampened night,
the walls are coated with red sludge
that is enough to reduce a grown man
to his knees with pleas of destroying
the savage assault on his senses.
In the middle of the room sits a chair
that is positioned right under a bulb
of light that spreads a dimmed vision
to the entirety of the room, the chair
is locked inside a cage as large a space
as the cabinet of a common kitchen.
The bulb swings from its loose wires
that seems to exist as a tangled mess
with the red intersecting the yellow
and in various points the wire
seems to have been stripped of its
dignity with copper exposed in points
that have rusted against the times.
It seems that the swinging light
may never be fixed to a single space
in the vast expanse of the ceiling,
so it throws shadows against the walls
where the chair is mere distortions
between light and dark.
The chair is trapped in a cage
with a lock that seems impossible
to ever penetrate and the break
in the metal bars that has rusted away
is too small for any hand to fit through.
The mildew grows in the corners
where the ground meets the wall
and against one of the four the green
grimy mildew meets the red sludge
enough to give of a yellow colour.
I recognise something against one
of the four walls, it calls for my eyes
and screams for my ears. It reiterates
this is the inside of my mind and
so far I'm making colours of everything
I could ever find.
I've been running my whole life
and in every single light, I am
another shadow casted against walls-
forever imprisoned.

The light inside is broken but I'm still working
the moments of hurting seems to come and go
like a tide built from an undertow of anguish.
I let anger be my language and the bandage
only manages to grow in size.
In retrospect I should have expected less
I'm blessed that I found this sort of emotion
in an ocean of human sensation, I've taken
enough of what is to be learned.
Bearing another day felt almost impossible
as colossal losses shall feel and in tragedy
happening I found something else I want
a haunted thought that maybe I'm okay,
maybe just the slight; I am okay.
I would have been more okay in your arms,
but I am convincing myself that I am okay,
and like a torrent of despair, you shared
heartache into my soul.

The heart inside is broken, but I'm still working;
I remind myself it doesn't worsen
but in moments, I'm fervently certain I'm wrong.

I'll wait for tomorrow, and the day after;
til laugh seeps my soul, for then I will know
that the glowing light I've been expecting;
will be switched back on.

I will wait till I can learn to love again,
next time it won't be in the arms of pretence.
I will love her as I love wielding a pen
and fighting my inner turmoils.
I will love her as though she is my world
a world unknown to me before.
I will love her like a crimson moon
overlooking the riverside.
I will love her as I have loved you
but only more.
I will love her with complete radiance,
and build on my patience, for her.
I will love her like the complex things in life,
meant to be understood and studied.
I will love her as if we shall perish in waters;
and with a breath, I will lift her life like a balloon,
and shall that be the last kiss we ever share;
I will bear the pain of letting her know-
I have only ever held her in my heart.

I will love her as I will adore roses, not to wilt
but to instil the most of joy as I could.
I would love her as if she was a gem in my life,
unknown to opened eyes that she is sparkling.
I know I will love her,
and that is a promise of honest care
that shares paths with the joyous moments.
I know I will love her, because I know
she will love me too.

I don't know how much things I haven't apologised for yet
I don't know how much time I have left to say all these things.
I sometimes stay up at night and think of the wasted apologies
and the lack of acknowledgement for people I take for granted.
I remember waking up with pins and needles in my feet,
wondering if I walked will the pins learn to make me bleed.
I don't know how much my family knows I love them,
how often I think about them in times of troubles
or even if the rubbles of the foundations that hold me up
is enough to leave a footstep trail to where I will lie.
I wonder how many missed opportunities for apologies I have lost to time.
I wonder how many missed chances for I love yous
which would change the blue coating my soul.
I wonder if I'll ever know what it was like to not think back.
Before the thoughts fade to black, I'm accustomed to this.

Chaos is in my mind,
a blind light seems to ease
the darkness that creases the folds
of my brain.
The auburn chest of the sun,
a crimson dungeon that only
ever becomes unlocked by
emptiness.
This empty pit I drown in,
only becomes filled with bottles.
I can't go on knowing that each drip,
is just one temptation magnet
attracting on the next.
I am the one regret I have ever had.

I want to:
die in a breath,
live in a heartbeat,
chase a sunrise
like the wind
under a butterfly's wing,
smile like the fishes
aren't watching,
hear the cricket croak,
soak in vivid poems,
become lost in the stars,
chase the cars
that I can't afford,
raise the hairs on my neck
from the affection of a kiss,
teach a kid that
heartache is natural,
witness a meteor shower
and its ashes,
hear a pigeon
give a soliloquy
and watch a rose
frozen in mid July.
I want to touch dreams
and dance in nightmares

I wish I had a garden of guardians,
a place to plant my heart in, where parting ways-
and the resulting dismay are non-existent.
I wish I had a place to put my heart in,
where my heart remains fully guarded,
never to be discarded like broken business cards.
I wish I had a place to plant my heart in,
so that it could grow into roses and lilacs,
****** into a happily ever after, not to be mistaken for happy endings.
I want to grow a garden of stories, all of which rose petals-
settles on the soil, guiding me to the one who would hold my heart.
I want my heart guarded but enough so that it could still be stolen.

"Roses are red,
Lilacs are light purple;
I'm hoping the rose petals-
somehow leads me to you."

I am afraid that the only place
I will meet you again
is deep within my dreams,
and I'm even more afraid
that when I finally get that chance
to meet you all over again,
you won't remember who I was.

We played our childish game of seven minutes in heaven,
when I knew very well that I should have gone to hell.
We played an endless game of  nicky nicky nine doors,
because the floors were lava and we had no where else to go.
Too little hiding and too little seeking to find what we wanted,
or to even run away from what we truly honoured.
We played games like children playing breaking bricks,
trying to break traditions set by parents from years earlier.
We chose to play a 'til we die' game called arranged marriage,
because operation made for a better game than abortion,
and it's all distorted marketing; trying to sell parkinsons-
to veterans with medicine prices sky rocketing.
We lived in a time where playing cops and robbers
meant playing tax offices trying to honour tax on coffins.
Take the heinous nature of human and discount it forward,
we are not all as evil as we seem, but we still play jump rope
with the sensitive lines hidden behind media's eyes,
we play jump rope with politics because it was always fun-
to lunge up the ladder in a game of snakes and ladders.
We all played at monogamy like it was a game of monopoly,
constantly competing for marriage like it was Mayfair on the board.
We've boarded on a train of imagination with fetishes and kinks,
trying to rethink what the ordinary could never provide,
and I admit, i lost in the game called tinder but I don't lose sleep
knowing I haven't matched with someone who swiped right.
We built campfire out of torches because there's still a light
in the horse **** we go through on a daily basis,
and we hold our tragic faces trying to compete with the sob stories
of modern day Romeo and juliet's because what's best is beyond us.
So I tire of playing Simon Says when I know quite well that
we play duck duck goose with bullets and guns hoping the fun
doesn't reach us too soon because there's still some fun in funeral.
We played our childish game of seven minutes in heaven,
when I knew very well that I should have gone to hell.

She is the beacon that entrusts warmth onto me,
and I stand the pillar of whatever holds balance to her life.
I call my heavens and she responds with a simple smile,
but an eternal mile gives lesser comfort than her words.
I've heard the loose lies slip through those lips of hers one
too many times and I have won more than I have loss in this
fair trade of tragedy. She is a volcano waiting for the ash
and the lava to erupt and bury me.
I am just the wind that carries along the embers
of whatever we used to remember and everything else
we wished to forget.

She is, just one ...
            that I can't forget,
that I really wish I didn't,
and really wish I did.

She rides in with the moonlight,
the hollow echoes of her footsteps,
silent as her smile glows in night,
as those sparkling eyes match.

I wore pride like a badge across me,
at shoulder height, slung right across,
the fact that she’s mine, forever to be;
silent as my smile glows in night.

The cusp of the air grows beyond stars,
cherished breath; we matured forward,
redundantly relaxing beyond the yard,
as we stood in the tenacity of the dark.

There is not one thing left in the world,
just two souls stuck silently smiling.

There's a tightrope in my mind,
everyday I am afraid to fall
and most days I wished I had fallen
a couple of months ago.
I'm just tired of walking
and there's supposed to be
a sunrise to welcome my every step;
but I just can't find it.
I'm not crazy,
I'm just trying to hide away everything;
so if you meet me in person,
remember my smile
because I've spent years with it,
I have spent years with the same smile.
Cracked lines on my face,
this place isn't home and I just
keep on smiling-
till I can't.

I have spent so much time blaming you,
that you have died and came back alive
in the amount of time that I have held on
to this hatred.

I blamed your life for my future
just because it suited me to say
you were in charge of my history
as if the mystery behind an unopened
box is controlled by you unwrapping
the ribbon.

So for all the times I have been selfish
I helplessly apologise

I can’t write like other poets,
each closest word I can think of,
is merely a cough in a dying body.
I wish I could write of reluctance,
of binding pungent chains tied to a life,
I wish I could write about pretty eyes
and the way they look like sapphires
tossed into a river.
I wish I was more of a poet than I claim to be,
I wish I could write with an aim to leave
behind a spectre of gleam and grim,
but I can’t.
All I know are broken hearts,
and writing this alone is ripping me apart,
because the roses that sat on the field,
is always sweetest when they’re the furthest.
The blue sky cuddles me inside it’s orb,
but I absorb enough light to know-
that no matter how much sunshine I receive,
you still won’t be able to see me.

Do you ever wonder if stars are lovers wishes,
the thousands and millions of wishes to be together forever,
and a city without stars is a city of lovers that have never seen a day apart.
What if stars are a painting of the different pathways,
two lovers could take?

What if the late night thinking and the dazzling stars,
are telling me that you and I are a mistake?
But what if they're telling me that you were made for me,
the same way stars are made for each other to form constellations?

She says the gems that have become her eyes doesn't shine,
she's been force-fed lies by those who despise her differences:
because her interests are not the same as theirs and the air
that she breathes somehow robs her of her sense of purpose;
she feels worthless by the curse words that people fire her way
like a birthday cake at a wake, she says these gems leak liquid
as if being gifted was the plague she lays awake afraid of the night-
because in the night, the nightmares seem to follow her.

She feels little, belittled by people who go out of their way
to make her in their way, she is the bullseye in plain sight,
so in daylight; her smile becomes concave downwards;
the cowards seem to know how to always overpower her,
and like a sour burp; she is a clear warning of what may occur.

She walks pass so many houses everyday; unique in their own way,
but it is all for display because the families inside aren't always sunshine
and roses.

She says the gems that have become her eyes doesn't shine,
I say they light up more than she could ever notice,
because feeling broken occurred more than mending
and like sending a letter, she awaits on a pending paper
so that the pen and paper could cure her of the blues.

She says the gems that have become her eyes doesn't shine,
but oh how divine they are, if only they weren't coated in tears,
she'd be able to hear how much her eyes sparkle and glisten.
[Ohhh tragic: the twisted world we live in....
and with the life I am given, I will make sure she knows her eyes- they shine.]